


Throes of Fate

by Ruairi_JL



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dragon Riders, Duelling, Dwarves, Elves, Epic Battles, Fantasy, Gen, Good and Evil, Hobbits, Magic, Magic-Users, Middle Earth, Minor Character Death, Rivendell, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Swords, Swords & Sorcery, The Shire, Threats of Violence, Time Travel, Violence, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruairi_JL/pseuds/Ruairi_JL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Time is an enhancement of Being. Never before has it been altered, and never again shall it." </p>
<p>So says he who utters unto Eragon Shadeslayer his eternal destiny. The winds of time, wrought by magic, transfix and envelop all in their path. A Rider and his dragon are now bound to Middle-Earth, with the muted knowledge and desire that they have a Fellowship to aid, and a Dark Lord to destroy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throes of Fate

_-You will know no relapse, suffer no release, yet drown in the agonising sea of countless eons, and thereby you shall fall-_

_**One – Agony and Her Humour** _

"What have you done?" Galbatorix asked, horrified. He stepped back and put his fists to his temples.  _"What have you done!"_

With an effort, Eragon said: "made you understand."

A swirling, impassable mist of grey and white matter suddenly surrounded the young Rider, enclosing all his thoughts, all his senses, all his emotions into one melting pot of subterfuge and mental subjugation. He ceased to be one of coherent thought, and became a recluse of time, locked within the momentous struggle of his own mind to exist in a single space, a single artifice of the universe itself. He knew not, felt not and thought not, but was one and all with the enticing sensation of pain and fear rolled into a single breath.

Saphira shared his sentiments, both being one kindred soul locked in two separate beings, and together they fell into nothingness. Eragon fought for dominance against this unholy hold that the king had upon him, but found such actions were nothing but trivial, meaningless against the holy law of nature herself. Galbatorix had him at his whim, and was not in the process of letting go.

"Think you the only one who can manipulate the Ancient Language?" the king growled. "It bows to  _me."_

"It bows to no one," Eragon said through gritted teeth, the very effort of speaking burning through his eyes and skull. He screamed aloud as white-hot fire began to arch its way across the back of his mind, scraping against the skull like a flaming sword. He fell to the ground, positively writhing.

"Thou shall be lost to the sands of time, swallowed by that infernal shadow of black abyss and hopeless end. Your screams shall echo through the ages, lost on deaf ears, to those who birth and die in tandem with the convoluting evil of mortality. You will know no relapse, suffer no release, yet drown in the agonising sea of countless eons, and thereby you shall fall. If you escape you will face a foe to whom I look meek by comparison. That shall be your end. And the world will hear Galbatorix has his victory, even in death eternal." The king smirked. "Well met, Eragon  _Shadeslayer._ "Wryda, waíse néiat!"

Fate, be not.

"Saphira!" Eragon cried aloud.

" _Eragon, stay close!"_ his companion mentally shouted.

With a pained cry, Eragon began to push an arm before him, clawing at the cold stone of the king's throne-room floor, every inch paining his joints and muscles with irrefutable agony. Galbatorix was being torn apart behind him, smiling a wicked smile and screaming together as his body was ripped to pieces, even as Eragon's protective spell made itself known toward his companions. But it did not affect him.

In desperation, Eragon slouched forward another few feet, grunting with his teeth bared as he did so. In the corner of his eye, Arya was calling his name and trying to reach him, but she could not penetrate the mist that was imposing itself upon the room. Something began to happen then; a distinctive whirring noise began to sound, almost deafening in tone. Eragon reached Saphira just as this began to build to its highest octave, and she stretched out a leg for him to grab as the sound popped out of existence.

Three things happened then. The king vanished with a puff of smoke and howl of fear, the mist vanished, and Eragon found himself falling. His eyes shut of their own accord as he collapsed into a pit of icy darkness. Saphira roared, awakening him. Eragon gave a gasp as the true magnitude of what was happening hit him. They were no longer in Galbatorix's castle, but falling through skies and oceans as one.

Eragon yelped as they stopped suddenly. The pain was gone, his clouded mind freed. With a rush of inspiration, he quickly climbed onto Saphira, nestling himself in the saddle she suddenly bore. A quick check told him Brisingr was at his side, but the Eldunarí had vanished, including Glaedr's.

"Saphira, where are we?" he whispered.

The world was smaller, squashed as though being compressed at its sides. Palancar valley was beneath the two, smaller than his old bedroom, and yet it was simultaneously bigger than ever before. A direct oxymoron, formed through the copulation of magic and time leaping to and fro without resolve. It was then both realised they were floating, not flying, and could not move, despite want of trying.

Next, Eragon happened to see that the world was pulsating, as though ready to burst. To what end, he could not say.

" _Little one, look!"_

Eragon snapped his eyes to the point she indicated, and they then bulged in shock. The poles of this gigantic little world seemed to be spinning, replacing one another continuously and alternating the geography of the land without stop. That was when they noticed various cities and landmarks were vanishing, even as chunks of the coast began to break apart, reform and separate from each other. The land was changing in its very structure, leaving no room for misinterpretation. This process started very slowly, much like the whirring from before, but now it began to speed up, and changes were so frequent he could not keep his eyes upon one before a thousand more took precedent.

The world began to spin as though resting upon a sword-point, circulating faster and faster. Eragon held his head and screamed as the dizziness became a pain so profuse his nose began to bleed. Whatever was happening, his body detested it almost as much as his mind.

With a  _whoosh_ , the spinning ending.

Eragon started when he saw the spectacle before him, and quickly made to draw his blade, only to find it stuck to the sheath through some uncanny spell. He tried to undo it, only to find he could not speak, or even think about the Ancient Language. So he quickly ducked under a sideways swipe from a massive great-sword, held by a deformed creature that looked rather similar to the Urgal, only more grotesque. And certainly more feral in appearance.

Eragon made to step back with his elf-like agility, only to find the blow hadn't been aimed for him. He gasped aloud as a steel-clad figure stepped  _through_  him, parried the blow, and decapitated the creature with a backhand slice. Eragon tried to grab a disgruntled soldier nearby to ask what the blazes was happening, but found his hand passed straight through the distracted man's shoulders.

"Saphira, what is this?" he whispered.

" _...I believe we are seeing the shape of things to come. Or possibly what has already happened."_

Eragon fixed her with a dishevelled stare. "You mean... we've moved through time? That isn't possible."

Saphira hesitated.

"Saphira?"

" _I cannot say, little one. What do you expect of me?"_

Nearby, a tall, gaunt figure stood atop a pile of corpses and raised his massive sword skyward, bellowing what sounded like a call for victory. The men – and elves, Eragon realised – behind him heeded the call and roared in unison, bashing shields with spears and driving the Urgal-like creatures backwards. They seemed on the verge of winning this battle. In the background, an imposing volcano raised upon scorched earth erupted, and Eragon felt an eerie silence grip the combatants nearby.

"Just give me your best guess," he said. "I want to leave this accursed place behind."

" _It does not matter,"_ she said.  _"We cannot interfere. The king wrought a spell that gave even me shivers, and Umaroth felt much the same before I lost the touch of his mind. If he truly discovered the Name, then he could quite possibly have sent us into the past. Or the future. I cannot be certain. Whatever we see we see for a reason, little one. But I know not of any volcano in Alagaësia, so cannot fathom where we may be."_

Eragon growled in frustration. He watched with trepidation as the front line of men and elves seemed to hunch together, then turned his gaze toward what they were staring at and uttered several choice curses.

"My gods!"

A menacing, iron-clad figure strode purposefully from the line of creatures toward the men and elves, armed with a gigantic mace. He donned an all-black set of armour, and looked like sin itself. What made him truly intimidating, however, was his absurd height. At least eight feet tall, he towered over the tallest of elves present, his spiked mask leering down upon them.

"And so came forward the Dark Lord Sauron, former servant of Morgoth, terror of the Second Age, bearing upon his forefinger the almighty Ring of Power."

Eragon whipped around, stunned to find none other than the hermetic Tenga at his side.

"What are you doing here?" Eragon exclaimed.

Tenga did not look at him, but kept his eyes fixed upon the...  _man_  he called a 'Dark Lord'.

"I have halted your flow through time, Eragon Shadeslayer, so that you might see this moment. When you awaken you will find yourself besieged by questions and qualms alike, frivolous in nature and perturbed by the smell of air you have never before breathed. You must understand."

"Understand what?" Eragon asked, deathly silent.

"Time is an unusual enhancement of Being. Never before has it been altered, and never again shall it. Know that the world you enter has never been recorded in any history books, nor has it been prophesised by even the most learned of seers. It exists in shrouded myth and clandestine fabrication, yet cannot be overlooked. Its importance in shaping the world is matched by none, not even your conquest over Galbatorix."

"You know about that?" Eragon asked. He was utterly confused. Was that supposed to be Tenga's way of explaining things? It made him even more light-headed than before.

In the corner of his eye, a flutter of movement. Eragon looked around, finding that Sauron had swept a large swathe of men to one side with a simple swing of his mace. Eragon's eyes bugged out. His strength was incredible. With furious swipes, he began to decimate the alliance's lines. They could not get close to strike back, and arrows seemed to not hit their mark. Finally, one brave soul raced forth, he Eragon had seen with the abnormally large blade, and was smote with a single blow to the skull, caving his helm inwards and splattering his face with crimson.

Eragon felt a pang of sadness, despite not knowing the belligerents here. The man had clearly been a great warrior. To be swatted meekly aside in such a fashion was an unbecoming end.

"It is now that Isildur, son of the king, will take up his father's blade," Tenga continued. "From Sauron's finger the Ring of Power is taken, and with it, his life-force. When The Deceiver forged the Ring he bestowed upon it much of his strength, all of his will to dominate life, and his unholy cruelty. He is evil personified, darkness defined. Not even Galbatorix could hope to match the extent of his cruelty, and not even Durza could have embraced sorcery so malignant."

"What is he?" Eragon half-muttered.

"Neither human nor Elf. Not any longer. This world has been plagued by war for as long as most can remember. His master was a much worse tyrant, but Sauron is determined to tighten his grip upon the peace of all races until his Orcs utterly destroy all the allied races hold most dear. Eragon, look at me," Tenga said gravely, turning to face him for the first time.

Eragon tore his gaze from the scene as Isildur snatched the shards of his father's blade and cast off the Dark Lord's finger. "What do you want from me, Tenga?"

"This is the last time you will ever see me," Tenga said with a hint of sadness. "You cannot manipulate time, and neither can any kindred soul you happen to find in Middle-Earth. Do not attempt to make your way back to Alagaësia, or surely you will both die." He addressed both of them together.

Nearby, Sauron seemed to explode with a force that knocked over anyone and anything in the vicinity. His Orc army fled, leaving Isildur to gather the Ring as his own.

"What, you're saying we're stuck here!?"

"I am afraid so. And it is worse. You are about to be cast into a much graver situation than anything you have previously faced. So that you might comprehend the magnitude of what you are facing, I am leaving you with my knowledge of all that has happened in this world. This will all make sense soon enough. When you awaken, you will find your minds refreshed."

"Wait! Surely you can get us back? You're here, after all!"

A small smile lifted the corners of the hermit's mouth. "I am afraid that in giving you my knowledge I will be sacrificing my memories of this event. Never again will I know, speak, or indeed think, of Middle-Earth. But if you happen to find me as a young boy, do not attempt to teach me of myself. And if you ever come across my corpse instead, please try not to step on my skull."

Eragon choked at that. "Why don't you keep your knowledge and use it to get us back?" he demanded.

An Elf hurried to Isildur, telling the man to follow him quickly. Eragon watched briefly as both departed.

"My knowledge is not sufficient. Only Galbatorix knew the Name, and he is gone. It may happen that Murtagh knows it also, but I could not find him for months, if not years, of searching. He has already fled north on dragonback, and will surely conceal his location with powerful wards I could not hope to breach in a hundred lifetimes of trying. No, even with my know-how I have not the strength. I can do no more."

Eragon felt his heart rip. "But... Arya... the dragon eggs..."

Tenga rested a consoling hand upon his shoulder. "The Eldunarí are not with you, are they? Umaroth will tell Arya of them, and she can help raise the new Order. And she herself... do you think it would have had a happy ending?"

Eragon was reluctant to admit it, but knew the old man was right. He didn't have a chance of making it work if he was to raise the new Dragon Rider Order. "What should I do?" he whispered, voice cracking.

"Lose yourself in this world. You are now a part of it, and it of you. It  _is_  your world, and as one of its subjects, you are pledged to defend it as you would Alagaësia: with your life, if necessary. I have stopped time here because it is a historic event, and you are to be dropped into an era several millennia on, where the Ring has been discovered and is in the hands of a Hobbit."

"Discovered? And what are 'Hobbits'?"

"You will soon find out, I promise you. Brightscales," he said, turning to Saphira. "I apologise for ignoring you during the course of this conversation, but I sense you already understand and it is imperative you and your Rider are on level footing."

Saphira snorted.  _"I do, Tenga-elda."_  Her use of the honorific surprised Eragon.

Tenga nodded. "Good. Be warned: dragons are feral creatures in this world, used as devastating beasts of war by the Dark Lord Morgoth himself. They are feared and hated equally, but are considered untamed. Show them your intelligence, no aggression, and you will prevail. Shadeslayer, my time is almost up. Interfering with the king's spell has weakened me severely, and I shall die if I do not leave soon."

"What are you?" Eragon asked, wary of being rude.

Tenga smiled.

" _Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness, Where gates stand forever shut, till the world is mended."_

The words were familiar. "That's part of an Elven song."

"An old or new chant for exorcising demons, I do believe," Tenga said. "Who I am is of little consequence. But know this, my last piece of advice before I must depart:

_Faces of nine can you trust, I know not who_

_Save old Gandalf, and Aragorn-Strider too._

_Be wary of the nine men in black,_

_For they have in horror what in tender lack._

_The Dark Lord sees all, lidless though he be;_

_He watches now, will remember us three._

_Depart for Elrond and Rivendell hall_

_It is there you can help to save us all."_

"He'll remember us..." Eragon whispered. "How?"

"He is powerful beyond measure, although I have ensured certain words do not reach his ears. That would be devastating for us all. Yet do not underestimate him, as he will send his nine out after you. Farewell to thee both, Eragon Kingkiller and Saphira Bjartskular."

"Wait!"

But it was too late. Tenga vanished in a flash, and after a moment it was as though he had never been there. All was still, until the world once more began to spin, this time in the opposite direction. The armies vanished, the land disappeared, and Eragon's headache returned. This time he screamed aloud as pain overcame him, forcing him to his knees. Words of wisdom and strength began to fill his mind, and he came to know about the Ages of Middle-Earth, Sauron, the Valar, Morgoth... it went on until he could no longer cope. Saphira roared in pain beside him, filling his ears with pain as his mind was almost split in two by the sheer weight of learning that threatened to drive him insane. There was  _so much_  to absorb, and it felt an impossible task!

Without another thought, he forced his eyes shut and collapsed against Saphira.

Their minds swam as one in an ocean of time and space gone by. Eragon could see, yet he could not find himself. He slept through the generations, yet they flew past in the dawn of a second. Saphira comforted him, and he her. It was as though his mind was being blown to smithereens, and then rebuilt upon the wisdom of the Valar and the immortal glory of magic incarnate. Winters cold and summers warm passed overhead, taking with them countless kings, queens and others of a noble virtue, yet of poor deposition. Even the meanest beggar could be the kindest at heart.

When he awoke, it had been but a minute, and yet it felt like centuries had rattled the very core to his soul. He found himself in a green environment, surrounded by trees and shrubs alike. Birds called to one another, even as squirrels and hares darted to and fro alongside the tumultuous undergrowth. This was a piece of nature that would not survive, he knew, if the Dark Lord had his way.

Straining, Eragon rose to his feet. He needed to get his bearings, and discover where to go first. Tenga's knowledge had not extended to include an overly-comprehensive knowledge of Middle-Earth's geographical layout. He needed to find Rivendell, but if what the old man had said was true, he would be hunted every step of the way.

"It's a good thing I'm a fair hunter myself," he said with a wry grin, those upturned lips rising a mite further as Saphira growled her agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted via my account on FanFiction, but I felt like sharing it with this site for more opinions and feedback. I won't ask you directly to give me any - it's your own prerogative. 
> 
> Just a couple of things: this is mainly based on the LOTR films, but incorporates elements of the books as well. Consider it a mix between the two in many ways. The first five chapters have been completed as of now - they'll be uploaded over the next week or so. After that expect a slowdown as I try to balance time between writing, work and university, when I start back. 
> 
> Enjoy.


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